Go to Sleep
by Missing Triforce
Summary: How to get the Consulting Detective to Sleep by a very tired Dr. Watson.  Very fluffy One-shot.  Please R&R.


Go to Sleep: A BBC _Sherlock_ Fanfic

_So, this takes place farther into Sherlock and John's relationship in the show. It is a romantic relationship anyway which makes it slightly Alternate Universe. Chronologically, I think this would be after Sherlock returned from his "death" and killing Moran, which would explain Watson's panic when Sherlock disappears. Perhaps a month or two after Sherlock returned? However, they are still in their 30s-very early 40s since with the so soon introduction of Moriaty we can assume they haven't aged that much._

_Nevertheless, this is what happens when I watch _Sherlock_ and _Vampire Diaries _in the same night._

John woke up to an empty bed...again.

For a split second he thought something terrible had happened. That the image of Sherlock brushing his teeth in blue silk pajamas and then slipping under the sheets beside him had been an illusion-an fading dream. The almost tangible sound of his quick mind slowing as his long form lay there, the protesting squeak of gears ceasing to turn and falling into the oblivion of sleep must have been a lie.

But it wasn't. John placed one of his hands on the spot that Sherlock's body had occupied on the bed and it was still warm. What time was it? Oh my God: 4:00 in the morning? Was there a case or something? He was so sleepy: it would be much easier to drift back to his dreams...but...

His brain had started functioning enough to review earlier suspicions of Sherlock's weakened health condition from the last case. That stupid detective needed to sleep or he would overexert himself (of course) the next time some loony murdered somebody which would make matters worse.

With a groan, John rolled out of bed and pushed the covers away. In his sleepy haze, he stumbled out of the bedroom towards the faint glow he saw coming from the living room. And there was Sherlock, sitting close to the table with papers and books scattered about him. His head was in this hands, his white fingers splayed to his forehead as if to support the thoughts running in his head. For some odd reason, his pajama top was off and his curly hair slightly damp.

"Is there a case?" asked John, bleary-eyed. He rubbed his hand across his face a few times to wake himself up (it was ineffective) as he meandered to the doorframe between the kitchen and the living room. He leaned against it, the wood slightly groaning. He was so sleepy...By the time Sherlock answered, he was already nodding off despite standing up.

"Nooooo. I was just thinking about the last one," the detective answered, his fingers still holding up his head. In his delusion of sleep deprivation, John thought he saw Sherlock's eyes flick towards him, but then immediately back inwards to his thoughts.

"Is there a problem?" John said.

"Noooo. No problem. Just thinking." No movement.

"Sherlock, as your doctor-"

"Colleague"

"Whatever," John yawned, "You need to sleep or your fatigue will cause your nerves to not function." He himself was back asleep basically despite his eyes being open. Sherlock still did not move. But Sherlock needed to sleep.

Tired of this silliness, John blundered over to Sherlock and sat on his lap, facing the detective straight on and resting his head against Sherlock's clasped one. "You need to sleep." He put his arms around Sherlock's neck for emphasis.

"I can't think when you do that." On instinct, John immediately put his arms to his sides and moved his head to Sherlock's shoulder. He also immediately started slipping off Sherlock's lap. "Don't fall off. You'll hit the table," said Sherlock distractedly and his hands finally moved in a single flash to John's back to keep him upright.

"Thanks," mumbled John, closing his heavy eyes into Sherlock's neck. This was a good spot to fall asleep. But Sherlock needed to sleep too. With their chests this close, John could feel both their heartbeats, a warm steady rhythm. Sherlock's was beating a tad faster than what was entirely healthy, but soon slowed closer to his. As usual, Sherlock's body was slightly colder, but something was still off about Sherlock's temperature. An idea popped into his tired brain.

He lifted his head to Sherlock's exposed shoulder and began to kiss it. Light, airy kisses like a bird's wing against skin. He felt rather than heard Sherlock's heart flutter out of rhythm. The disjoint continued as John moved down the shoulder to his neck and an especially loud thump when he reached the damp space behind his ear. "Sherlock..." John whispered. "You need to sleep."

"But I have to-"

"No you don't."

He was down Sherlock's jawline now and his companion's heart was hammering. His body was softening from its ice sculpture. The sharp, intense edges melting. The embrace more of a hug than a seatbelt of safety. The heat between them was escalating and reached pitch point as Sherlock kissed John full on the mouth. John put his arms around the detective again and one of Sherlock's hands snaked to the back of John's head, raking through his blonde hair. In a minute, John broke away, both gasping for air. He rested his forehead against Sherlock's, saying, "You need to sleep or your fever will get worse."

"Is that all you can say?"

"But it is true. Doctor's orders." John sensed Sherlock smiling and opened his weary eyes to confirm his suspicion. Pulling his head back, he saw the detective's eyes were closed, making available close inspection of the dark circles ringing them. But his face was one of contentment, his smile upturned on one edge in wry mischief.

"I'm sleepy. You caught me."

"'You're a criminal as long as you're mine,'" John said, once again resting his head on Sherlock's shoulders, face nuzzled to his neck. He was so delusional to quote that silly American pop artist. Sherlock chuckled, nesting his head on John's shoulders and back. "Go to sleep _in a bed_, Sherlock." This was taking too much energy.

Automatically, Sherlock lifted his drowsy companion and rose from the chair to walk back to their shared bedroom. As they both burrowed under the covers again, Sherlock whispered in John's ear, his feverish cheek close to John's cool one, "What would I do without my blogger?"

"You would not sleep," John said back as Sherlock pulled away. "Now get to it."


End file.
